


Echoes from the Past

by Sactolan



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: One hour one-off, spoilers for Red Dead Redemption 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21968731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sactolan/pseuds/Sactolan
Summary: Tilly Pierre, for years known as Tilly Jackson, could never entirely escape her past life.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Echoes from the Past

Tilly Pierre had some errands to run. She walked down Rue Jacques to the shop she found herself frequenting, for it was the only shop in Saint Denis that supplied her with items her little Amalie most desired to eat. She was glad relieved to finally have some time to herself, what with the move to a new apartment and her duties to her husband and two daughters. On these rare treks to purchase goods, Tilly remembered the days twelve years past. She was then Tilly Jackson, an outlaw in a gang of outlaws she viewed as a family. Their movements were unrestricted, but their chance of dying violently were made ever higher with each passing day. She thought of Hosea mostly, but a wave of sadness overcame at sudden thoughts of Arthur and Miss Grimshaw. 

“All for nothing,” she muttered to no one in particular. Today was especially hot and humid despite it being November. The usual flies buzzed around Tilly as she walked, and the usual cockroaches scurried on the stucco frames the buildings, slipping into their tiny cracks. There were always crowds of people on the sidewalks at this time of the afternoon, and so she carefully avoided each person without so much as brushing up against them. She now thought of the Marstons. It had been a year since she’d heard from them. Maybe she would send a lender to Beecher’s Hope soon.  
“It’d be nice to catch up,” she continued the thought aloud. She had become more pensive over the years. Perhaps it was age. Suddenly, a man riding a mountain of a horse bolted right in front of Tilly, almost hitting her. 

“Watch it!” she belted at the man. The rider gave no answer, speeding off in the direction she’d come from. Tilly admitted from time to time how much she missed the country. Finally, she’d arrived at the block housing Flandres, just separated by Rue Pierrot. She entered, and bought peaches, bread, cheese, and child’s medicine. She no longer needed to go all the way to Oldham’s pharmacy to acquire medicine for her young’s girls colds. From the window, she noticed Jake, the boy who stood at the corner selling the Saint Denis Times to passers-by, set down a stack of the latest print onto the sidewalk. She dull bell rung as she exited the shop.

“Mrs. Pierre,” the boy smiled.  
“Jake,” Tilly smiled back.

“One for Mr. Pierre, and one for Mrs. Pierre, I presume?”  
“You presume correctly,” she gave the teenage boy required cash for two copies.

“Thank you kindly, Mrs. Pierre.”  
“No, thank you,” Tilly replied, placing the papers in her grocery bag. She walked back to her home and waved at Jake, him waving back.

She didn’t normally have the desire to read the paper before she got home, but something piqued her curiosity. Perhaps it was the glimpses of words she noticed on the front page. Along Rue Jacques, she found a bench to seat her and her belongings. She sat down on the bench, placed her bags at her feet, and extracted a newspaper and unfolded it. She made an audible, small gasp, and her body turned numb in confusion.

“INFAMOUS BADMAN KILLED IN TALL TREES”  
A subscript under the title was, “Cold-blooded murderer Dutch van der Linde and gang of Indians annihilated by army in Cochinay”

Tilly Jackson Pierre read the line several times, not really understanding what she was even reading. She continued down the article, stopping at a damning sentence in the piece.

“Van der Linde was reportedly found at the foot of one of Cochinay’s mountains, having fallen from the height. Two gunshot wounds were noted in his abdomen.”

The image of the printed words became blurry, as an almost foreign sensation stung Tilly’s eyes. Tears fell onto the page. The began as mere droplets, only to rain more heavily as they streamed from her face.

“Tilly?” a familiar, warm voice with a Haitian accent appeared from behind.  
“Dear, what is the matter?” Her husband inquired, a tone of concern apparent in his voice. Auguste saw the bold letters on the paper, and what they described. He appeared next to Tilly, sitting down beside her, and embraced his grieving wife.  
He knew she mourned for an awful man, just as she knew. But he also knew from her that that Dutch van der Linde had saved her life, and acted as a father to the forlorn twelve-year old girl. If not for him, Auguste would likely have never met the lovely woman he called his wife, and so he did his best to console her.


End file.
